oh, these twisted games
by turtleducklings
Summary: And, okay, so my parents had me because the Capitol made them. Just, whatever, okay? AU.
1. I

oh, these twisted games.

**laurel mellark**

( _living in an alternate universe_ )

disclaimer: not mine.

**

* * *

**I stare into the darkness, thinking about my conversation with Haymitch. Everything he said was true about the Capitol's expectations, my future with Peeta, even his last comment. Of course, I could do a lot worse than Peeta, but that isn't really the point though, is it? One of the few freedoms we have in District 12 is the right to marry who we want or not marry at all. And now even that has been taken away from me. I wonder if President Snow will insist we have children. If we do, they'll have to face the reaping every year. And wouldn't it be something to see the child of not one, but two victors chosen for the arena? Victor's children have been in the ring before. It always causes a lot of excitement and generates talk about how the odds are not in that family's favor. But it happens too frequently to just be about odds. Gale's convinced the Capitol does it on purpose, rigs the drawings to add extra drama. Given all the trouble I've caused, I've probably guaranteed any child of mine a spot in the arena.

-Katniss Everdeen, Catching Fire_  
_

* * *

I open my eyes to bright sunshine streaming through my open window and the smell of fresh bread. As I lay in bed, feeling the last bits of sleep that still clutch my body fade away, the only clear thought that resounds in my mind is that I just want to close my eyes again and fade back into blessed unconsciousness. Today is the reaping. And I know almost for certain that it's my year to be put in the Hunger Games.

Most rich kids like me don't ever go to the Games, because they never have to sign up for tesserae. The odds are most definitely in their favor. However, most rich kids don't have two victors for parents. Two victors who are often associated with the word "rebellion."

My parents are the survivors of the 74th Hunger Games. The only year where the rules stated that there could be two winners, if the last two remaining were from the same district. Yes, Peeta and Katniss Mellark. The tributes of District 12.

My mom and dad have gone back to mentor District 12's tributes every year for eighteen years. Only one of those years has a tribute from our district won. The 90th Hunger Games was a victory of District 12. The winner: Jacen Morrow. He won at fifteen, which is pretty unusual. Most victors are sixteen and older.

I sigh and push my head farther back into my pillow. I have a terrible feeling that somehow, I'm going to end up competing in the 92nd Hunger Games. I mean, it's only a matter of time. My parents had told me a long time ago how President Snow had been out to get them, ever since their Games, but now that they were victors, he really couldn't hurt them. But he could hurt their children.

I had always just accepted that sooner or later, there was probably going to be an attempt on my life. And now I knew, this year was just my year.

I sigh once more before throwing the covers aside and swinging my legs over the length of the bed. My sock-clad feet make a muted thumping noise as they land on the thick carpet. I wiggle my toes in the soft, fuzzy strands as I gather my courage. Then I stand up and make my way downstairs, not bothering to change. The cameras won't be here 'till noon.

I can hear my parents in the kitchen as I pad down the stairs. My dad is talking to my mom, explaining a painting that he's just finished. She's sitting at the kitchen table, nodding absentmindedly as she sips her tea.

I walk into the kitchen and sink into the chair across the table from my mom. "Morning."

My mom gives a small smile, not taking her eyes off the wall behind me. "Good morning."

"Hey there." My dad says, a grin lighting up his features. He walks over and kisses the top of my head. "Sleep well?"

I shrug. "Well enough."

He nods and puts a plate of toast in front of me. "I baked the bread fresh this morning."

"I know. I could smell it." I pick up a knife and spread butter and jam on the toast before taking a bite. The flavors and textures dance across my tongue, salty and sweet, crunchy and chewy. Mmm. My dad is an amazing baker.

As I'm enjoying my breakfast, my mom stands up suddenly. "Mom?"

"You okay, Katniss?" My dad asks.

My mom looks at my dad. "I'm fine. I just… I need some air." Then she walks quickly from the room. I wince when the back door slams. I look at my dad, raising one eyebrow in question.

He sighs. "Don't worry about her, Laurel. This time of year is just… hard for her." I nod in understanding. This time of year is hard for anybody who lives in the districts.

He walks from the room. "I'm gonna go get her. Keep out of trouble."

"Me, trouble? Please." I say as the door clicks shut behind him.

I place my dish in the sink and then head upstairs to get dressed. As I clamber up the stairs, I think of how my mother must feel. She's survived the Games herself, and she's seen many tributes die in them. The tributes she was supposed to bring home alive. I can't imagine what effect that would have on her. On my dad, too. But Peeta Mellark has always been good at hiding his feelings.

I walk into my room, throw open the closet doors, and try to decide what to wear. I figure I'll have enough time to run errands and then come back and clean up before the cameras come, so I just grab a pair of worn khaki pants and a black shirt with long sleeves. I'll put on a dress later. And maybe do something with my hair besides leaving it as it is, which is short and wavy, hanging loose over both my shoulders.

I examine myself in the mirror. I've grown some, though I'm still pretty short for my age. I have my mother's petite build, but I've developed some muscle from climbing trees and hunting with my mom and Gale. I would probably fit right in with the kids that live in the Seam, with my dark hair and olive-toned skin, if it weren't for my startlingly blue eyes. That's one of the only traits I've inherited from my father.

I sigh and run a hand through my hair. Then I turn from the mirror, slip into my faded leather hunting boots, grab a jacket, and head downstairs and out into the early morning sunshine.

I shiver a bit and pull on my jacket. Even though it's summertime, it's still a little chilly out. I walk along the row of large houses that make up the Victor's Village and stop in front of Jacen's house.

I debate whether to go inside or not. I'm not really in the mood to listen to Jacen grumble about something or other, but I need to ask him something. Something important.

I take a deep breath and walk up to the door. I hesitate for a moment before knocking. I hear footsteps before seeing the door open, and there stands Jacen Morrow in all his sulky glory. He looks me up and down before asking, "Whaddya want, Mellark?"

I resist the urge to roll my eyes at the lanky seventeen-year-old and simply say, "I wanted to ask you something." He stands there, looking at me with his eyebrows raised expectantly. "Um… can I come in first?" I ask.

He sighs. "This is a long 'something' isn't it?"

"So what if it is?" I say, hearing the defensive tone sneak into my voice.

He rolls his eyes and walks into the house, leaving the door open behind him. I stand frozen for a moment, not sure what to do. He turns around. "You coming or not?"

"Oh – yeah." I say. I walk in, my boots making soft thumping noises on the polished hardwood floor. I follow him down the hallway and into the large living room. I feel a strange sense of déjà vu as I examine the room. All the houses in the Victor's Village are the exact same, so this room looks almost identical to the one in my house. The only different thing is the large scythe hanging above the fireplace. There's a bit of a story behind that weapon. It was Jacen's only means of defense and attack during his games.

I think back to the 90th Hunger Games. That year there had been an overwhelming amount of Careers. Jacen and Mollie Vorpal, the girl tribute from our District, hadn't really stood a chance. The arena that year had been strange and ominous. It was simply a large field, with yellowing grasses that stood high above the tallest tribute's head. The Cornucopia had been filled mostly with food and medicinal items, with few precious weapons. But somehow Jacen got ahold of that scythe, and within days he had taken out every tribute, sneaking up behind them under the camouflage of the grasses and taking them by surprise.

That scythe was just a cruel reminder of all the deaths he had caused. I wondered why he kept it and displayed it for all to see. But then, I guess that was why I was here.

"So? What did you want to ask me?" My mind comes hurtling back to the present as Jacen's voice shakes me from my reminiscent thoughts. I study him for a moment, taking in his appearance. He's tall and lanky. His gray eyes and dark hair give away that he's from the Seam. He's generally of rough character, and I can't stand to be around him for long periods of time. He's like a younger version of Haymitch. But more violent. And better looking.

I sigh. "How did you do it?" I ask.

"Do what?"

"How did you kill all those kids?" No matter how impossible I think it is, his expression darkens.

"Are you _trying_ to make me upset?" He asks angrily.

"N-no, I just… how did you do it?" I ask once more.

"How do you think I did it? I just snuck up behind them and killed them. No explanation needed," he says huffily. This is going the opposite direction I need it to go.

"No, that's not what I meant," I say quickly.

"Then what _do_ you mean?"

"I mean… how did you _do_ it? How did you gather enough courage to actually do it?"

His expression softens slightly. "Oh." He shifts from one leg to another as he looks at the scythe hanging on the wall. "Well…" he stops and looks up at me suddenly. "Wait. Why are you asking?"

"Because. I need to know now. In case I get picked today."

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "Laurel, you're _not_ gonna get picked. You've never had to sign up for tesserae. You probably have, what, four entries?"

I cross my arms angrily over my chest. "Five. I'm sixteen, genius. And besides, why are you so angry about it? It's not my fault that my family has money."

He flops onto the couch with a sigh. "I know, it's just…" he pauses searching for the right words. "It's just… it's really not fair sometimes," he musters up. Wow. The guy's _real_ articulate.

I sit down next to him. "It's the Capitol, Jacen. They don't really do 'fair'."

"Yeah, yeah…" he says waving his hand dismissively. A slightly awkward silence settles on us before he says, "Well, you'd better get going. Cameras'll be at your parents' house soon. I bet the prep teams are already waiting there to get you and your parents all fancied up."

I stand up. "Yeah." I look around before nodding at Jacen. "Well… thanks, Jacen." Then I turn around and walk swiftly from the room, not bothering to shut the front door behind me.

* * *

"Laurel!" I jump at hearing my name in the high pitched Capitol accents. Venia, Flavius, and Octavia all pounce on me and smother me with hugs and kisses. When they've finished, I simply nod at them. They still work for Cinna, prepping the girl tribute from District 12, but they also like to come and dress my mother for the Games every year. I guess because I'm a girl I get to be lumped in with her torture… I mean, prepping. The trio leads me upstairs and sits me in a chair set up in front of the vanity in my room.

"My goodness, Laurel, how you've grown!" Octavia exclaims.

"You mean how her _eyebrows_ have grown. Really, Laurel, don't you feel so ugly with those big, fat, caterpillars sitting above your eyes?" Flavius asks.

I touch my eyebrows and scowl. "They're not that bad." I protest.

"Well, they won't be after we've finished!" Venia says. I don't even understand why I must go through this torture. All the other kids in Panem probably don't get this Capitol-ized for a _reaping_.

My mother thankfully comes in at that moment. "Don't _even_ think about it." She scolds the team. "She might not be picked this year, and if she does, you can take care of her eyebrows in the Capitol."

The prep team sighs in defeat before leaving the room to prep my mom. I give her a sympathetic and thankful smile before she follows the team out of the room.

I sit in the chair and stare at my reflection for a moment before going to the closet to pick out a nice dress for myself.

I run my fingers along the row of fabrics hanging neatly on the rack, feeling all the different textures, and sigh. This is the first year that the prep team has tried to primp me for the reaping. I'm not the only one who knows that I'm going to the Games this year, huh? Well, actually, the prep team might not know. They're too preoccupied with their shallow little Capitol lives, worrying about what to wear to the next big party, what new color to dye their skin. Maybe I am the only one who knows about my parents' stormy relationship with President Snow… besides my parents, of course. I finger one of the dresses hanging on the rack and blow air from my rounded lips. I start when I hear a voice behind me.

"Excuse me, but I've been told that I would find a young miss Mellark up here?" I spin around.

"Cinna!" I exclaim as I jump into his outstretched arms.

"Hello, Laurel." He says, a smile playing on his lips.

"What are you doing up here? Shouldn't you be getting my mom ready?" I ask.

"Oh, I'll get to her in a second. First, I have something for _you_." He taps my nose with his finger before spinning on his heel, beckoning me with his hand. "Come on, then."

I smile and follow him out of the room. I walk down the stairs after him and turn into the living room. There are racks of clothes set out, all for my mom and dad. He stops at one rack and fingers through the clothing. His hands stop when they reach a deep purple dress. He takes it off, holding it out and admiring it. "Ah, here we are." He holds it out to me. "This is for you."

"Me?" I ask as I take the dress in my hands. It's made of a dark purple silk. It has short, slightly puffed sleeves and a full, flowy skirt. The bodice has small pleats across it. I finger it gently and look up at him. "Thanks." I say, smiling.

He puts his hand on my shoulder and smiles back. "It was about time I made you something." He says, shrugging. He nods towards the stairs. "Well, go try it on." I shoot him another smile before bounding up the stairs to put on my dress.

* * *

I finger my the skirt of my new dress as I sit on the couch in my living room, chewing my lip nervously. _It's almost time_, I think as I wiggle my toes in my too-stiff shoes. I hear footsteps on the stairs, and my dad emerges from the stairwell. He looks handsome, but this is nothing new. My dad always looks nice. It's hard to believe that he fought to the death with twenty-two other kids. I give him a small smile as he sits down beside me. We sit in silence for a moment before I ask, "I'm going today, aren't I?"

He smiles, though the smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Nothing's for sure, Laurel."

"Yep, I'm going this year." He puts his arm around me and rubs my shoulder, smiling a more genuine smile.

My mom comes down the stairs, wearing a dress and makeup. She looks a lot different than she usually does. Cinna comes down the stairs behind her, one hand under his chin, examining her hair thoughtfully.

"Do I look okay?" she asks.

"You look great." My dad says, standing up to join his hand with hers. He sighs before saying, "Well, I think it's time."

I stand up and start to head for the door when my mom says suddenly, "Wait!" she runs back up the stairs where she disappears into her bedroom. A few moments later she emerges and rushes back down the stairs. "Here." She says, holding out her hand to me. I hold my palm under her outstretched fist, and she drops something small and golden into my hand.

"But… Mom… you're giving me your mockingjay pin?"

"For good luck," she says, giving me a small smile.

_Oh yeah. I'm definitely getting picked this year_.


	2. II

oh, these twisted games.

**laurel mellark**

( _living in an alternate universe_ )

disclaimer: not mine.

**

* * *

**

As we near the square, I feel a wave of dread wash over me. This could be it. The year I'm picked. It's almost inevitable. My fingers go to the pin attached to the silky fabric of my dress. I touch it lightly, taking a deep breath. Both my parents made it out of their games. If they could… well, so can I.

I look up at my mom and dad, keeping a blank expression on my face. I open my mouth, wanting to let them know how I feel about all of this, but there are simply no words. I open and close my mouth a few more times before hanging my head and sighing.

My mom grabs my hand and gives it a squeeze, while my father wraps his arm around my shoulders, drawing me close. "It'll be alright, Laurel," he murmurs into my hair.

I don't believe him.

I shake off his arm and walk to the area roped off for the sixteen-year-olds, sending my parents a thin smile over my shoulder.

As I find an open space in the crowd of nervous teenagers, I look up at the stage. My parents are getting in place, sitting down in the chairs set up at the back of the platform. I notice that two of the chairs are still empty, though. _Jacen and Haymitch are late_, I think.

I look at all the parents standing on the edges of the square. Some are shifting anxiously from one foot to another, others are wringing their hands, while a few just stand there, faces devoid of emotion.

As my eyes scan the crowd, I find Gale. He stands on the edge of the crowd, staring blankly ahead, one hand deep in his pants pocket.

From what my parents have told me, I learned that Gale used to love my mother. But after my parents got married, Gale had moved on. He married a girl from the town and had a son with her.

I look at Gale again. His wife, Madge, stands next to him, clutching the hand that isn't shoved in his pocket. I follow her nervous gaze to the section for twelve-year-olds. Their son, Rowan, stands there.

I forgot that this was his first year.

He doesn't look too nervous. He stands straight as a board, nodding at his peers as the crowd in around him. But then, he takes after his father in that way. He's not one for showing his feelings.

I direct my attention back to the stage. Jacen's climbing up the steps now, a sullen expression on his face. He's dressed in nice clothes, and it looks like he bothered to comb his normally-unruly dark hair. Haymitch is trailing sulkily behind him.

They take their seats just as Mayor Undersee takes the stage, looking older than ever. It won't be long until he's replaced.

He clears his throat and begins reading; telling the history of Panem. After he finishes, he reads a list of past District 12 winners. Four of the five victors we've had are still alive: Haymitch Abernathy, my parents, and Jacen Morrow. Haymitch is looking pretty old, and with all the drinking that he does, I have a feeling that it won't be long until he's gone.

The mayor's finished now, and as he sits down Effie Trinket, our ridiculous Capitol escort, trots up to the podium. "Happy Hunger Games!" she squeals. "And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor!" Effie Trinket is living proof of what the Capitol is capable of. I know for a fact that she was the escort during my parents' games eighteen years ago, and from the footage that I've seen, she doesn't look any different. Same perfect skin, same blindingly white grin, same outrageously thin figure. Today she's wearing a hot pink wig and a pressed, white suit. She looks wrong and out of place in our dirty, soot-filled district.

She spends some time going on in that annoying Capitol accent about how honored she is to be here. I know for a fact that every word coming out of that genetically enhanced mouth is a lie. She hates it here. I've heard her say it enough times.

Now we've reached the part of the ceremony where she draws the names. "Ladies first!" she squeaks as she bounces over to the glass ball with the girls' names. She reaches in, digs around for a moment, then produces a crisp, white slip of paper. She crosses back over to the podium, unfolds the slip of paper, and leans into the microphone. "Laurel Mellark!"

The crowd gasps as they register the information. Laurel Mellark. Daughter of Peeta and Katniss Mellark. Daughter of two victors. She's been _picked_?

Even though I knew this was coming, I can't help but feel a little shocked. There was still a tiny part of me that hoped that I wouldn't be called. I shake myself, gathering all my courage, and push my way through the throng of teenagers. As I climb the steps to the stage, I still can't help but wonder if this is all a dream. But when I reach the top of the platform and see the fear on my parents' faces, I know that it's not. I go to stand next to Effie. She shoots me a winning smile and looks out into the crowd expectantly. "Well, isn't she a pretty one? Can't let her go into the arena, can we?" she asks, giggling in-between sentences. The crowd is deathly quiet. I guess she thought that maybe she wasn't clear enough. "Any volunteers?" she calls.

Silence.

It was to be expected. Who would give themselves up for a girl who's never had to go without, anyway? I know I wouldn't. I am despised because I am rich. It's really better that I go this way.

"Alrighty then! Sorry, sweetheart," Effie says as she pats my shoulder semi-sympathetically. She's quiet for a short moment before she pops up and warbles, "Okey doke! Time to choose our boy tribute!" she skips, _skips_, to the second glass ball. She reaches in and grasps a slip of paper. Then she prances back to the podium for the reading. She smooths the slip out on the wooden podium, then calls out, "Caden Oakwild."

I see movement in the area roped off for eighteen-year-olds, and a young man steps out and climbs onto the stage. He's tall, much taller than me. He has dark hair and gray eyes, meaning that he's probably from the Seam. I've seen him before, once or twice in the Hob, but other than that, I have no connection to him. He doesn't look sad or scared. Just resentful. I can understand that. He probably had dozens of slips in that bowl, if he ever took out tesserae. He stands next to Effie, who is asking cheerfully if there are any volunteers. No one steps forward.

Even though he's trying to show that nothing's getting to him, his face falls when Effie's questions are met with silence. But only for a moment. Then the bitter sneer returns.

Mayor Undersee steps up to the podium again, except this time it's to read the Treaty of Treason. I'm not really listening though. I keep looking at Caden. It's weird to think that we might have been friends, had things been different. If I hadn't been rich. If I lived in the Seam. If I hadn't gotten picked for the reaping. _Who says you can't be friends now?_ A small part of me asks. The majority of my conscience replies: _Me.

* * *

_

I throw another picture frame to the ground, satisfied with the crunching sound the glass makes. I guess all the anger that comes with being drawn finally caught up with me, because as soon as I set foot in the Justice Building, I was overcome with an inexplicable need to break things. Almost immediately after I was pushed into the room where I would wait to say my goodbyes, I grabbed a vase and crashed it against a wall.

I stand panting for a moment after destroying the frame, trying to calm myself down by taking deep breaths. Then, before I know what's happening, I've grabbed an expensive looking portrait and put a hole it with my fist.

Guess the deep breaths didn't work.

I sit on the too-comfy sofa and lean my head back, closing my eyes. I sit up suddenly when I hear the door open. It's my mom. I wonder why she's here without my dad.

"Mom?" I ask. She sits down next to me. She makes no motion to touch me, to hold me. She simply sits there with me.

"Yes, Laurel?"

"Where's dad?"

"He's mentoring you this year... he traded with Haymitch. He'll say his goodbyes to you in the Capitol."

"Wait... he's going, but you're not?" I pray that she says no. She can't stay behind, not when my dad is going. She can't.

My mom closes her eyes and lets out a shaky breath. "Yes."

"Why? I need you just as much as I need him!" I stand up, raising my voice slightly. It was different when neither of them were going. But when my dad made a visible attempt to support me, and my mom just did... _nothing_... I don't understand. Does she not _love_ me? She can't just abandon me!

"I'm... I'm sorry Laurel... I just..." her eyes open and I can see tears welling up at the corners. Her voice comes out, barely above a whisper. "I can't."

"You can, but you won't! You're just leaving! Leaving me to die! Leaving _when I need you_!"

She stands up as well, staring me down with her fierce gray eyes. "Don't you talk to me that way! You have no idea what I go through! What I'm _going_ through!"

I don't respond to this. It's true, I don't know. I have no idea. But she still can't just walk out on me.

She sighs again, turning away from me. "The decision's been made. Your father and Jacen are mentoring you and Caden. Haymitch and I are staying behind."

I don't say anything. There's nothing to say. Huh. That seems to be happening a lot today.

My mom turns around, looking at me again. I'm sure I'm a sight. My fists are clenched, my blue eyes are filled with angry tears, and I can feel a scowl on my face. "Laurel," her voice is soft, no longer accusing. "I'm sorry. I don't want you to be angry at me when you leave."

I nod, trying my best to calm down. When she opens her arms, I walk into them without a second thought. Even though she's not going to the Games with me, she's still my mom. And I want her to know that I love her. "I forgive you. I was wrong to judge you. I just... I want you there with me. I need my mother."

She nods, and I can feel her tears dripping into my hair. "I know. And I'm sorry. But I can't. I'd be compromising you. I'm not... I'm not in my right mind."

"Okay. I understand," I say, pulling away. We both wipe our faces. She takes hold of both my hands.

"I love you."

"I love you too, mom." She pulls me into one last hug.

"Please, promise me you'll try your best to win. I... I can't deal with the guilt. If you die, it'll be my fault."

I can't help but notice that she didn't say that she wanted me to win simply because she loves me and would miss me. But nevertheless, I nod and whisper, "I promise."

Then the Peacekeepers are here and they're saying that our time is up. My mom gives me one last kiss on the cheek before they lead her away. "Remember your promise," she says as she leaves.

My thoughts are interrupted by another opening of the door. I look up as the Peacekeepers usher Gale, Madge, and Rowan in. Madge runs up to me and hugs me tight. Rowan comes around and waits patiently for her to finish before he does the same. Gale just stands there. He waits until all the hugging's done to come forward and grip my shoulders tightly. "You can win this, Laurel." He says urgently. "You just need to get a hold of some hunting knives or a good bow and arrow…" his voice trails off at the look on my face. "Well… listen, you can do this. I know you can."

"Yeah." I say and hug him. He starts a bit before hugging me back. "Good luck hunting for all those families while my mom and I are gone." I say when we break apart.

He laughs a little. "Rowan'll help me." He says, shrugging. Rowan just nods.

These people are like my second family. It's strange to think of a life without them. I suppose though, if I don't make it back, I won't really have a life anymore.

The Peacekeepers come, telling them that their time is up. They leave quietly. Madge gives me a small smile over her shoulder and mouths _good luck_.

To my surprise, Haymitch comes in next. He doesn't even bother sitting. I gesture to the empty spot next to me on the sofa, but he just waves it away and says, "This'll be fast." I cross my legs and wait for him to tell me what he wants to say. He takes a deep breath and says, "Now, listen up. Despite my protests, your dad is going to the Capitol with you. I don't think this is good for either of you. A mentor needs to think with their head, not their heart." He pauses, and I fill the silence with a murmur of agreement. "I just have one word of advice for you, before you go."

"What?" I question.

"Don't let the Capitol get to you."

I'm baffled by this statement, confused by what it means, but I nod anyway. Haymitch crosses to the door, turns to give me one last look, and says, "Stay alive, kid." Then he opens the door and is gone.

I don't even have time to contemplate all the advice I've been given today, because now the Peacekeepers are coming in, telling me that it's time to go.

They lead me outside and more or less shove me into a car. In almost no time at all, we're at the train station, and I'm being guided to the platform. Cameras are in my face, and everywhere I look I see flashing lights. I catch a glimpse of myself on one of the monitors on the wall, and to my satisfaction, my face is completely barren of emotion. Perfect.

I turn to look at Caden, whom they've just pulled over to stand next to me. He has his hands jammed in his pockets, and there's no evidence of tears anywhere on his face. That's typical enough. But what's different is that he's actually _acknowledging _the presence of the cameras and reporters from the Capitol. He's nodding at them, and every once in a while he'll even give them a small smile. Huh. This is certainly different from the surly person on the stage an hour ago. I wonder what changed between then and now...

Now we're being pushed up the platform to the actual train. We stand in the doorway of the train for a moment, while the cameras get a good look at us. I'm well aware of my expression at the moment. I'm visibly perplexed at the attitude of the boy standing next to me. Caden Oakwild, the boy from the Seam, smiling and nodding at the cameras. I think that his strategy might have something to do with winning over the sponsors. Even I'll admit it; he's really good-looking when he smiles.

After a few long moments and a lot of flashing lights, I'm pulled inside the train and the door is slammed shut. Instead of crowds I'm seeing stars, dancing in never ending circles in front of my eyes.

Now the train is lurching forward, and I have to grab onto Caden to keep from falling over from the sudden acceleration. He looks at me in surprise, and I sit, dazed, for a moment before quickly letting go and taking a few steps away from him. He smirks slightly at my response, and for some reason, this makes me angry.

"Alright, children!" Effie pipes. "Let me show you your rooms!" And then she bustles off, expecting us to follow her. As there's nothing else to do, we follow. She shows me to my room first, telling me to do whatever I want, wear whatever I want. What I _really_ want to do is talk to my dad, but she tells me that the mentors and tributes aren't to converse at the moment, and that I need to stay in my compartment. Caden gives me a sympathetic look as Effie shuts the door.

I look around the room. It's fancy, even fancier than the Justice Building.

I'm not impressed.

I snoop through the room, seeing if there's anything interesting. There's not. I sigh and peel off my dress, deciding to take a shower. It was supposed to be therapeutic, but it kind of just made things worse. Every moment I was in there I kept wishing that there weren't so many options for what type of shower I wanted, and that it was just simple hot water streaming from the shower-head like my shower back home. After I've finished, I rifle through the dresser drawers, skeptically observing all of the clothes inside. I pick out an outfit similar to the one I wore this morning, then I tidy up the room a bit, delicately folding my reaping dress and laying it on the end of my bed. I unhook the pin from the front of the dress and attach it to my shirt. I observe the room, seeing if there's anything more to be done, but I didn't really bring anything with me, and so far I haven't done anything to make the room cluttered. I sit on my bed, prepared to be bored out of my mind for who knows how long, but just then Effie knocks on the door and informs me that it's time for supper.

I open the door and step out into the hall, following Effie to the dining car. Caden isn't here yet, so Effie leaves to collect him. I sink into one of the cushioned chairs, observing the table settings. All the plates are glass, and the silverware is polished to perfection. My dad walks in and sits down across from me. I look up from the dishes. "Hey."

"Hi," he says. My dad opens his mouth, about to say something else, but Effie bustles in, Caden in tow, and he says nothing. _Later_, he mouths. I nod as Caden slides into the seat next to me. He gives me a nod in greeting, but his attention is diverted as the Capitol servants come in, carrying large, silver trays laden with food. There's an array of different soups and bread rolls; after that they bring a large roast turkey; cheeses and fruits follow, and the meal ends with a spiced ginger cake. Needless to say, I'm used to meals like this, but Caden probably hasn't seen this much food in his life. However, I'm impressed by his excellent table manners. He uses every piece of silverware correctly, uses his napkin fairly frequently, and surprisingly, he doesn't eat super fast like I expected him to.

He's just full of surprises, isn't he?

I don't like that I can't seem to figure him out. I need to so I can get out of here alive. I'm going to talk to him some more, see what makes him tick. Maybe I can predict him easier.

There's one risk I'm taking here, though. If I get too close, I'm going to get attached. And if there's one thing I can't deal with right now, it's a friend who's supposed to be an enemy.

I'll need to be careful.


	3. III

oh, these twisted games.

**laurel mellark**

( _living in an alternate universe_ )

disclaimer: not mine.

**

* * *

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We all end up eating dinner in mild silence. Effie makes attempts at conversation once or twice, but she quickly gets the hint that none of us are really in a chatty mood.

Jacen never shows up for dinner. I wonder where he is, and if he's hungry or not. I suppose he can just call an attendant later if he's in a better mood to eat. He's most likely in his room, doing what he does best, which is moping.

After we've all finished the meal, Dad stands up and says, "Well, they're going to air the reapings in a few minutes... let's go watch then, shall we?" We all stand up and follow him to another compartment, which is filled with comfy-looking sofas and a nice TV. We all sit and wait for the show to start. I'm placed in-between my dad and Caden, much to my dismay. He deliberately sat with me. I can see the mischievous smirk on his face now. I huff and cross my arms, settling further into the plush cushions.

My dad puts his arm around me, which is a comfort. I'm even more thankful now that he's here. I inherited my mother's temper, unfortunately, and apparently he's the only cure. He works wonders on Mom too. I lean into him and close my eyes when I feel him press a kiss into my hair. "It'll all be okay," he says for probably the fifth time today. It annoyed me earlier, but right now, it makes me feel safe. My dad'll protect me.

Too bad he actually can't.

I try not to think about that particular detail.

The reaping recap is on now, focused on District 1 first. A girl is reaped, who can't be older than fourteen, but a large Career leaps forward to volunteer. Almost the exact same thing happens for the boy, except it's a thirteen-year-old that's volunteered for. Another Career takes his place.

I know I should be paying attention, but I can't help but let my eyes glaze over as we watch. I'm sick of all of this. I'm dreading my competition more and more as the districts flash by. Even the commentators note that this seems like a Career year.

Hooray.

Now we're on District 12, and I'm being reaped. The commentators remark on my parent's expressions, how surprised they look. Then they say something about how handsome Caden is, after he's been reaped, and then they say that they expect another confession of love during the interviews this year. "After all, it's in her blood!" I clench and unclench my fists, grinding my teeth and trying not to lunge at the television. My dad rubs my shoulder sympathetically.

"How can they be so... lighthearted about this? It's like they don't even care!" I whisper angrily to him.

"I know," he says. "It's because they _don't_."

The reapings are over now. Effie stands up, claps her hands together twice and says, "Okey doke! Let's get our tributes off to bed! We've got a long day of prep and presentation tomorrow! You'll want to look bright-eyed for that!" She puts a hand on my shoulder, and then Caden's, and leads us off to our separate compartments.

After she lightly shoves me into my room and closes the door, I dress for bed and climb in-between the satiny sheets.

I lie there for what must be an hour before I stand up and pull on a robe. I can't do this. Sleep. Wonder. Feel so _angry_. I need to go talk to someone. Anyone. Even Caden, at this point, I can stand talking to, if it means I can get some rest.

I open the door and pad out into the hall, barefoot. I walk aimlessly down the train, staring at the floor, feeling the soft rocking of the transport. It's oddly soothing.

When I look up, I realize my feet have led me to the dining car. It looks like one of the tables is occupied. I look closer. It's Jacen. He's sitting there, staring out the window, absentmindedly sipping from a crystal glass.

I knock on the wall, alerting him to my presence.

He starts a bit and looks over his shoulder at me. I walk over to his table and slide into the seat across from him. "That's not alcohol, is it?" I ask.

He smiles a bit and shakes his head. "No, don't worry. It's just water."

"Oh. Good."

He sighs and leans back into his seat, setting the glass down on the table. "Sorry I wasn't there to watch the reapings tonight. That was bad mentoring."

I shake my head. "Why didn't you come out at all?"

He closes his eyes and lays his head back. "It's just... hard. I hate having to go through this every year," he says.

"Yeah. I imagine it's... difficult."

He lifts his head up and crosses his arms on the table. "Hey, listen, so I talked to your dad, and he thinks it's good if we mentor you and Caden separately. He also thinks you'd do a better job if he doesn't mentor you. So, I'm going to be working on your strategy, okay?"

I'm taken aback by this statement. I thought for sure... well, whatever. My dad is really smart, and if he thinks this gives me a better chance of winning, then I'm willing. Even though... ugh, really, Jacen? Sometimes I think he hates me. I just hope he actually tries to help me win. Though, he seems okay right now.

I nod and sit up straighter. "O-okay," I stutter out.

He smiles. "Great." He seems to notice just then that it's the middle of the night and we're the only ones outside of our rooms. "Wait... why are you up right now? You should be sleeping."

I shrug. "Couldn't sleep. Too much on my mind."

He smirks and says, "I know what you mean." We sit in silence for a while, Jacen occasionally sipping his water and staring out the window. I just watch him.

I remember, when he first moved in next door to us, I thought he was really handsome. I'd sit on my front porch, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, but he never came outside. I used to really fancy him.

Then, one day, I gathered up all my courage and went over to his house. When he opened the door, he was drunk. _Really_ drunk. He even had a bottle of white liquor in his hand to prove it. "Who're you?" he asked, his voice slurred from the drink.

"Are you... _drunk_?" I asked incredulously.

"So what'f I'm?" he said, leaning heavily in the doorway. "Why d'you care?"

"I care because you're too young to be a drunk! You're going to end drinking yourself to death! Alcohol isn't the answer, Mr. Morrow, and I suggest you stop drinking it immediately." Then I spun on my heel and stomped away from his house, leaving him standing there in his doorway.

I marched into my house and slammed the door behind me. As I walked past one of our windows, I saw him from the corner of my eye. I stopped and turned. He was still standing in his doorway, but now he was looking at the bottle of liquor almost thoughtfully. I watched as he set the bottle down on the doorstep and walked inside without it, shutting the door softly behind him.

From that day on, I never saw him drink another drop of alcohol. I mean, that doesn't mean that he wasn't drinking anymore, but I like to think that he did quit. I don't know.

As I sit looking at him, I think about how nice he looks. Relaxed, drinking _water_ from a small glass, staring thoughtfully out the window at the passing countryside. His hair is sticking up in places, as it usually is, but it looks good somehow. His usually intense gray eyes have softened up, and he isn't scowling like he usually is. I wonder why he isn't like this all the time. I would still have a crush on him if he was like this all the time. But he isn't. And I _don't_. At least, I think I don't. I _hope_ I don't.

Jacen clears his throat, and I look away quickly, not wanting him to catch me staring. He turns his face from the window and says, "Well, since we're both up, let's talk strategy, shall we?"

"Uh... sure," I say.

"Okay. Now, what are you good at? Can you handle any weapons?"

I think about this. Helping my mom and Gale hunt has prepared me for this in more ways then I ever could have thought. "Well, I can handle knives pretty well. Throwing and stuff. And I can shoot fairly okay. I also know a few snares, big ones, like, 'big enough to trap people' big," I say.

He smiles. "Well. We might be better off than I thought. Can those snares be used to catch food, as well?"

I nod. His smile gets bigger. "You just might be able to win this, Laurel. You just might." He leans forward. "How are you as far as hand-to-hand combat?"

I frown. "Not good at all. We had wrestling in physical education once in school, and I got pinned every time."

He nods. "Okay, well, then we know what to work on during training. Your mom took you out to the woods a lot, right? So you know about plants and game?"

"Yeah, I have a fair amount of knowledge on plants. Which ones are poisonous, which ones heal."

"Okay..." his voice trails off, and he seems deep in thought. "I'm trying to remember your parents' Games, how they won... oh! Katniss is a really good climber. How about you?"

"Not as good as her, but I can climb."

He doesn't say anything. His hand is resting over his chin, and his eyes are rolled up to the ceiling. "This could work..." he says thoughtfully.

I smile. Maybe this will be better than I thought. If Jacen decides to be agreeable the whole time, that is.

"Well," he says, "it looks like you have a good chance of winning. All you need are some sponsors and you're practically back home already." He slaps his hands on the table and stands up. "Now, let's try to get some rest. Opening ceremony's tomorrow. You're making a big impression on potential sponsors. So you'll need to look your best."

I laugh. "You sound like Effie."

He rolls his eyes, but he smiles. "Whatever. Let me walk you back to your room." I stand up and we walk down the train in silence.

When we reach my door, I give a small wave. "Thanks, Jacen."

He waves back and says, "No problem." Then, to my great surprise, he leans down to give me a hug. I start at first, then wrap my arms tentatively around him too. We've never hugged before, and it feels sort of strange.

He releases me and smirks. "'Night, Mellark."

I smile back at him. "Goodnight, Jacen." I open the door and walk into my room, closing it softly behind me. I can hear Jacen's footsteps as he walks further down the train, probably heading to his compartment.

I lean against the door for a moment, my head cocked to the side thoughtfully. "Huh," I say. _That was... nice._ I think.

Wait a minute... nothing's _ever_ nice with Jacen. What's up here? I'm confused.

I cross the room and get back in bed, sliding between the silk sheets. I lay my head on the pillow and close my eyes. I'll just have to wonder about it in the morning. Jacen's right... I need to sleep.


End file.
